All at once it occurred to Dibble that the devil could assume any shape he pleased. Supposing this dog were the devil, come to claim the price of the broken oath which Dibble had sworn to Gibbs! Just then the dog began to walk on his hind-legs and barked, as if to confirm Dibble’s supposition.
The runaway porter quickened his pace immediately, and his heart sunk within him. He was glad to see a cart coming along the road; this re-assured him, and he began to run as fast as he could; but the dog soon dropped on all fours again, and overtook his companion.
Dibble would have cried out to the carter for help, but just at that moment he came to a bend in the road, and saw a roadside inn and a little village not many yards ahead. The dog, it would seem, saw the inn, too, and the sight was not so pleasant to him as to Dibble, for the dog stood still, and then turned tail and crept into the hedge, and howled. Thomas was surprised at this, and plucked up courage enough to whistle and beckon his companion, believing that if the dog were not the devil, it was staying behind because of Dibble’s unkindness in running away, and feeling that if it were the devil he might get some assistance in the village to kill him, and thus get rid of the devil for ever; which Thomas, in his own way, thought would be a grand achievement.
It was some little time before the dog acknowledged Dibble’s sympathetic whistles and encouraging words to “come along;” but at length the vagrant animal came forth, and walked sadly and solemnly at the porter’s heels.
They went into the roadside inn together, along the passage, past the bar window, and into the tap-room, where two or three rough-looking fellows were drinking beer. Dibble sat down, and the dog slunk away into a corner under a long seat with a high back, called a “settle.” One of the men, a little fellow with a fur cap on his head, and a brown velvet jacket on his back, evidently noticed the dog, for he smiled and winked at another fellow, who sat opposite to him.
“There’ll be some fun jest now,” said the little man, looking at Dibble, who called for a pint of ale.
Several other people came in at this moment, three women amongst the rest. Most of them had bundles, and the men all wore caps and shabby coats; the women wore shawls and showy ribbons, and spoke in a hoarse, foggy style, and reminded Dibble of the women he remembered presiding over nut-stalls and shooting galleries at the Gloucestershire fairs when he was a boy.
Whilst he was drinking his beer the window at the back was darkened with several show-houses, caravans, and ricketty canvas-covered carts, which were coming into the yard for the night, and then Dibble knew that he was amongst show people. He ventured to ask an old man, who sat next to him, and who was engaged in spinning a penny in a peculiar way, and twitching it up his sleeve, if there was a fair coming off.
“Severntown races,” said the man, continuing his occupation, and evincing a desire not to be interrupted.
“Oh!” said Dibble, looking round, and taking stock of his new acquaintances. Several of them, he saw, had bundles like himself, and all of them produced something to eat. Bread and sausages, bread and herrings, bread and cheese, bread and onions, bread and black-pudding, bread and tripe; and bread and many other things were exhumed from those mysterious bundles, and from deep greasy pockets. The edibles were demolished along with beer, and gin-and-water, and porter, and cider, and other liquors, which a thick-fisted waiter brought in, amidst much talking and some swearing.